Escape Artist
by tainteddaughter
Summary: It's modern day, and Violet Harmon finds herself face to face with a killer- who decides that she is definitely worth saving.
1. One

**Westfield High School**

**May 17th, 2010**

**9:30 A.M.**

It's only first period, but I could already feel myself dozing off to sleep. The library was practically the most boring place in this entire school- but at least there was air conditioning. Every other room felt like a million degrees, and the California air was even worse outside. Not that I really had anywhere else to be- I had already been caught skipping twice. My dad, Ben, had grounded me, but I still found ways out of it.

My name was Violet Harmon, and I refused to be controlled. Especially by my screwed up, impatient, out of control family.

The clock was ticking rather loudly. I could hear every single second fly by, as if it was mocking me. The school was laughing at my ability to distract myself from work. In reality, I was really just thinking about the East Coast. My heart was aching for the familiar sights and noises of Boston. The snow that used to give us a white Christmas- not that I was very religious, but somehow it proved to be beautiful. People there actually had a decent taste in music. Not a single person in California had even recognized the name Kurt Cobain. It was disgusting.

My pencil tapped a few times on the desk, but that proved to be boring. Instead I moved my gaze upwards and looked around the library. There was some strange goth girl staring at the Fantasy books, and next to her was a boy I recognized. He had been honored for his academic achievement- honor roll- in the beginning of the year. In the table next to me were two very popular teenagers- Chloe and Kyle, who everyone knew were having sex on the weekends, although they would never admit it. Sickening.

**9:35 AM.**

5 minutes later, and I've still managed to do nothing productive. Maybe I can fail my algebra class and get sent to a different school. Somewhere where the kids have actual creativity. I hate Westfield- all their designer bullshit. Especially one girl in particular- Leah, who had decided to beat me up for smoking on public ground. It was total shit, anyone would agree, considering it was only my first week at the school. If she ever decided to bother me again, I'd send the cigarette to her throat.

**9:45 AM.**

10 minutes later, and I've written down a couple things. Some random words that have something to do with Ancient Greece. I'm rather drawn to Ares- god of war. His fierce personality reminds me of my own, as well as his spontaneous emotions. This is stupid of me to even be thinking of anything related to school. But ancient culture is intriguing.

**10:00 AM.**

15 minutes later, but I can't be doing schoolwork. Because there are shots erupting in the hallway.

The librarian, the only teacher in the room, hushes all the students into the center. I stand next to the goth girl- who's name is Stephanie, trembling in a bit of fear.

But I'm not afraid of anything.

Suddenly, the door bursts open, and a dark haired boy rushes in. There is blood covering his hand- that ugly crimson color that is all too familiar. I can see it on my wrists, painting a dull picture. "There's a guy with a gun. He's going crazy and just shooting up the school.." He mumbled, and his voice sounds dazed. Almost stoned.

"Who is it?" I asked, taking a step closer.

"-I don't know. He shot Johnny Michelson right in the neck.. This isn't even my blood." He added, stumbling forward with a bit of uncertainty. The rest of the group decided to split up, each of us taking refuge underneath a desk. The librarian hurried to shut the main door- but missed one on the left. Stephanie began to point it out- but it was too late. By the time the teacher had attempted to block it, several bullet holes had formed inside his chest.

The door fell open with a screeching bang- and I was staring into the dark eyes of a killer.

_**Hi guys! So, here's the first chapter of my newest story. It's obviously Violate, and I hope you enjoy it. I'd love to hear some reviews! Thanks so much for all the continued support.**_

_**-Sierra**_


	2. Two

**10:00 AM**

The entire population of the library scattered off into random corners, but I felt frozen in place. He was looking at me- staring at me with that mindless expression, and for some reason I couldn't move. I had seen him walking around school, though this was only my first week, and I could vaguely remember his name. Something with a T.

Snap out of it.

I shook my shoulders and ducked immediately, curling up against a nearby table. I still had a decent view of the weapon in his hands- his black boots, and his shaggy blond hair, which were entering the room. There was a noise from the left, near the bookshelves, and an evil smirk danced its way onto his lips. Normally, my heart would be racing. I was going to die. He was going to shoot me, and I was going to die- but for some reason, no fear was getting to my brain. Was it because of my previous suicide wish? The cuts that marked my skin? I didn't know.

Three loud, piercing shots echoed from the library, and I could hear the thump of a body hitting the ground. Just like that. Another victim of the massacre. That was two people dead. The librarian, and someone who's identity I wasn't sure of. Only a few more of us left.

The killer's face was visible again as he made his way towards the center of the room. Closer to me, closer to end me..

The stoner boy now has a bullet in his brain. His body drops almost immediately, but I don't shut my eyes. _I face danger and tragedy head on. _Time seems to be slowing down as the rest of the library is disappearing. I can suddenly see the tiny details of things I never noticed before. I can see the murderous blond, too, as he sneaks up behind someone.

A nerdy boy attempts a 911 call.

_Boom!_

The jock tries to be noble.

_Boom!_

and the only two left are Chloe and I. She's a cheerleader, one of those really popular bitches, and I can't help it. A small part of me itches with anticipation as the boy presses the gun to her head.

_Boom!_

Then, there's just me and him. Violet Harmon and my unknown attacker.

At first he doesn't see me. But then, there's a sparkle in his eye, and he realizes that he still has another target. We were staring in the beginning, and now he was going to bring me to death. I watch his boots come near the table.

One step.

Two steps.

Three steps.

But I don't even give him the satisfaction of pushing over the table. Instead, I gather my courage and rise from the ground.

* * *

He's much taller than me, which isn't uncommon, because I'm tiny. Small, fragile even. There's such a strange expression on his face- and I think it might be awe. I'll admit, I was pretty proud of myself. Nobody in their right mind would stand up to a killer. But if he was going to end my life, I wasn't going to take it feeling vulnerable. I was going to give my strength and challenge it. Challenge death.

I notice immediately that he doesn't raise the gun. It sits plastered to his side like a natural part of him, most likely frigid on his skin. Those eyes- dark eyes are scanning over me, over every part of me, in curiosity.

I remember his name, now.

Tate Langdon.

"Hello." He finally speaks. His voice is deep and intriguing, echoing off the walls of the library. A tiny smile curls on the right side of his lip. Is my death really this amusing?

"Hi." My words sound stuttered and nervous, much different than his normal approach. I sound like I'm full of fear- and suddenly his smile drops. Tate's mouth is curled in a bit of a frown, one that I can easily recognize.

"Don't look so afraid. You're smarter than that." He mumbles, taking a step closer to me. If only I could run away- hide, but I can't. I have to let him get close to me, and look at me, and embrace me, before he kills me.

"I'm not scared." I announce, perking my chin up, "I'm not afraid of you."

He raises an eyebrow as that look of awe returns, creeping its way up his face. I wish I knew exactly what he was thinking. Isn't this was true psychopaths did? Didn't they enjoy playing with their victims?

But his grin doesn't look evil, anymore. This time is stands genuine.

"What's your name?"

"Violet."

"_Violet_." He repeats, and I can't help but notice the way it rolls off his tongue. It sounds effortless but meaningful, as if I had just given him the world. It was only a name.

"I'm guessing you're going to kill me now." I comment, looking down at the way his hands are whitening around the gun. Though, his eyes stay black- and may even look darker. His awe is replaced with confusion- then shock- then maybe even panic.

"No. I'm not going to hurt you."

Tate places the gun on the ground, as if surrendering.

"But you are coming with me."

* * *

Reviews are much appreciated c:


	3. Three

So for some reason I've gotten a crazy amount of reviews for this story, so here I give you more! c: I would have updated sooner, but I was spending more time with my other fic, Tainted Fire. Anyways, hope you enjoy.

* * *

I don't want to go anywhere with him, of course. All of this decision making is hard when I'm standing here, frozen in confusion. My whole body feels like glass and I'm ready to break at any moment now. He's looking at me with such a dark expression, through those eyes of solid night, and I can't bring myself to move.

"No." I finally blurt out, although it sounds weak. His eyebrows narrow as he realizes that I have declined what was never really an offer, and in an instant, the gun is back in his hands.

"It wasn't a question." Tate announces, his face stern with almost a bit of pain. That type of pain that grows from rejection- when you find out your crush doesn't like you, or that you didn't get a date to the prom. Not that I have any experience with that shit.

"You just came in here and killed everyone in the room except me. Do you actually expect me to follow you? So you can torture me more?"

"I said I'm not going to hurt you!" He is suddenly shouting, and for a second I feel fear again.

"Then why did you pick up the gun?"

"I won't hurt you if you come with me. That's the new deal." He mumbles after a second of consideration. I don't doubt that he will hurt me if it's necessary. After all, I'm standing right in front of a mass murderer who is looking at me like I'm something grand. Funny how the first person to appreciate me is the one who might cause me to die. I take a few steps forward, deciding that leaving with him probably gives me a better chance of survival. There's got to be police outside somewhere, waiting for us to emerge. He instantly grabs my left wrist and begins to pull me forward. But not towards the main library door, near the body of the teacher, but to the right side window. Tate lets go of my wrist for just long enough to pry it open, and to my disappointment, there are no police near this side of the building. Just miles and miles of endless forest where nobody will find me. My body could be missing for years.

"Come on." Tate announces, and suddenly grabs my waist to push me through the window. I immediately shudder away from his touch but he doesn't seem to be offended. He only follows me outside and shuts the window with ease.

"So you're going to murder me in the forest now? Dramatic effect?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.

"No. Walk." He answers and once again grabs my wrist. This time his grip is more stern. Probably because we are outside of the school. I consider screaming, but the cold gun is pressing up against my leg, and I know that it would be a foolish decision. He could shoot me somewhere not fatal, but enough to cause a Hell of a lot of pain.

The trees around me seem to scream freedom, but also trap me in more ways than I ever imagined. Everything all looks so endless and dark, creepy and unwelcome, and I want out. I want to get away from this blond boy who keeps tripping on my heels and away from the birds that are screaming in the trees. But we walk in silence, complete silence, for quite a long time. Then, he turns around our position to walk to the left, off the path and into dense forestry.

"Follow my steps or you'll walk in poison ivy." Tate finally says and he begins to walk in front of me. I pay close attention to where his feet hit the ground. They land in tiny areas that look a bit worn out. Like he has taken this path before...

"Where are we going?"

"You'll see."

That's the last word he speaks until the trees begin to clear, and I recognize the scenery immediately. Sand, golden water- we appear to be in a deserted part of the beach. A tiny house appears on my left and my mouth hangs open.

"My father's beach house. He gave it to me in an attempt to win me over. Nobody knew except him, and well, he's in critical condition right now." Tate seem to grin at the last part, but I wasn't responding. We were in the perfect location to never be caught. I couldn't run away and I couldn't do anything. I was stuck here with a murderer who held a gun in his right hand.

"What a nice place to die." I add, blinking rapidly.

"I'm not going to kill you."

"You will eventually."

"You're too strong to be killed."


	4. Four

Sorry this took so long to update. Enjoy!

* * *

Tate pushes me inside the door, and then makes sure to lock it behind me. It takes a second, but I get used to the light, and begin to stare around. There are two floors to the house- the bottom containing a large kitchen and living room, but I can't see upstairs. Tate seems to smile and breathe in the ocean air, and it's the first time I've seen him looking peaceful. I can't tell if its a good thing or a bad.

"So you're just going to keep me here until we grow old and die?" I ask, running my hands over a granite countertop.

"Don't act so unhappy. I'm sure you'll be fine," he answers. I freeze in my tracks and turn around to make eye contact. A bit of anger begins to turn my cheeks into a bright, fiery red.

"Fine? You just took me here against my will! I mean, shit, you just _killed_ people in the school! You expect me to be jumping with joy? Sorry I didn't bring confetti!" I shout, with my voice rising with every line. I can't help my short temper, it's always been there, but his comments are only making it worse. But instead of backing away from my booming voice, he only scoots up closer towards me. Closer, until we are only inches apart.

"But you're not afraid of me. I bet a part of you wants to know about me. And what better way to do it then to be stuck here?"

"I don't want to be stuck anywhere with you."

"Liar."

He finally turns away from me, and takes careful steps towards the stove. I don't know where to go, because this house has dangers around every corner, so I keep my spot next to the kitchen counter. My hands turn ice cold as they touch the top, over and over again in a nervous tapping. Tate begins to pull things out from the pantry, but I can't exactly tell what they are. He notices me looking for just a second, and a bit of a loopy grin forms on his face.

"It's almost seven, I figured you were hungry. Good thing I filled up this place with stuff," he says. In his hands are a couple cans of chicken soup. Each one looks a bit old and I'm honestly rather disgusted.

"I don't want your food," I state, and cross my arms over my chest. It's shocking how cruel the words sound when they escape my lips. Tate sets down the cans as if they were fragile, and eventually gazes at me again.

"There's a reason I saved you. Because you are _strong._ I can see it. It practically screams to everyone around you, and I wouldn't have killed those people in the library if I knew you were in there. This food is for you so that you don't rot inside this house. Trust me, I don't want to keep you weak. I wish I didn't have to keep you here, but I do because I'm a criminal, and if I let you escape, you'll be some sort of fucking police celebrity. Okay? This is probably worse for me than it is for you!"

Without another word, I grab the bowl of soup from his hand, and steadily begin to cook it on the stove.

* * *

After eating a much needed dinner, Tate and I sit facing each other on the kitchen floor. He sets up the board as I'm sure he has many times before, but I watch with my eyes lighting up.

Scrabble.

"Do you know how to play?" He asks, and I laugh out loud.

"Obviously."

The tiles come pouring out in large group, and I select my few. This game is practically my one connection back to reality, and I'm not going to let it go down the drain. This whole idea of staying here might be horrible, but I am determined to find some redeeming qualities. Tate eyes his tiles like they are trophies, while I take mine more strategically.

"So why'd you move to California anyways? I remember hearing about you. New girl," He questions, while beginning to pick up a few letters. With nimble fingers, each is placed on the board.

**GHOST**

"My dad had an affair. My mom literally caught him in the act. They thought moving here would make everything better, but it's honestly just screwed us all up. I'm pretty positive he's still cheating," I state, before placing down my tiles.

**( H ) **

**A**

**N**

**D**

**L**

**E**

"That's terrible," he mumbles, "-If you love someone, you should never hurt them."

"Right? And the worst part was that my mom was having this brutal miscarriage. I mean, have you ever seen a baby coffin?"

Tate looks hurt, actually hurt, but puts his letters on the board.

**TAINT (E) D**

"My dad left when I was six. Mom married some old asshole named Larry, but I won't be seeing him much anymore."

"What happened to him?"

"Something."

"Oh."

My turn.

**N**

**I**

**G**

**H**

**( T )**

**M**

**A**

**R**

**E**

"Was it because of, um, your family? That made you angry enough to come to school today?"

"Not totally my family. My sister, Addie, she has Down Syndrome, is my best friend. It was mainly because of my mom and all the popular bitches."

"One of them was harassing me about smoking, Leah, I think."

"She's dead."

"Oh."

His turn.

**( M ) OONLIGHT**

"-Speaking of which, it's almost midnight. Get some sleep." Tate mumbles, clearing away the board before I could get the score. I hesitantly stand up, because even though he is quite good at scrabble, he still poses a danger to me. But he walks slowly up the stairs, with me following a few paces behind him, into the only bedroom in the house.

"I'll sleep on the floor." He comments, and tries awkwardly to fix the covers on the bed. I assure him that he's fine, but there's something in his face that shows he wants to guarantee that I'm alright.

"-Really, I'm fine. I'm not scared of you."

"Then is there a chance we could be friends?"

"Maybe."

* * *

Reviews are appreciated c:


	5. Five

Happy (almost) New Year! I've been reading tons of fanfics lately and it's inspired me to write some more. Needless to say, hope you enjoy.

* * *

I wake up to sunlight shining through the windows. For just a second, I feel comfort take over me, and I believe I am in my room, staring at the light blue walls, but these walls are pale. I'm not in my room, and I'm not in my home. I'm in a beach house with a killer.

Slowly, I sit up, blinking my eyes a couple times. I feel much calmer than I did yesterday. There's something inside me confirming that my doubt is wrong- Tate had every chance to kill me as I slept, and I am unharmed. He doesn't want to hurt me after all. I feel a bit bad for not believing him when he first told me, but I had every reason in the world to be suspicious. He is a murderer, one who I witnessed, one who has taken me here against my will. So why do I not seem to hate him?

I swing my legs out of bed, and immediately stare towards the ground. Tate is curled up like an animal, shivering on the floor, but still sleeping. I notice that he's whispering something although I'm unsure of what. I lean down just a bit. His words are louder now, but I hear simple things like "Stop" or "Please don't," but then I hear him say _Violet._

Just my name.

Over and over again.

I need to stop staring. My hands snatch a blanket from the bed I slept on, and I place it over him. The shaking stops almost as soon as I lay my hand on his back. I would be content with just sitting here for a couple of minutes, but his eyes begin to flutter open.

"Violet?" He mumbles, clearly a bit shaken.

"You talk in your sleep."

His eyes widen a bit, in surprise and confusion, but he doesn't cower. Of course he doesn't. Why am I caring about a ruthless, cold psychopath?

"So you didn't decide to stab me after all," I say, and he shakes his head.

"How many times do I have to tell you that I don't plan to hurt you?"

"Whatever. Though, I could have easily killed you."

He notices finally my hand hovering near his back, and the brown blanket that used to be on the bed. Something flashes in his eyes for just an instant, but then he goes back to his normal, cruel looking facial expression. I would rather watch him sleep than face him now. He seemed so much more at peace. _Stop talking like that, Violet._

Tate rises from his position on the floor like a zombie, and cracks his knuckles. I shudder away at the sound but he only laughs. I'm supposed to be the brave, confident girl, but at his gaze I have become something like a child. I try to straighten my back and swat away my hair, which is probably a tangled mess right now.

"Stop worrying about what you look like," he whispers, and I jerk away my hand from my hair.

"I'm making breakfast." I reply.

* * *

"None for me?" he snickers.

I am sitting at the table, with a nice bowl of scrambled eggs- which were surprisingly very fresh. I know he has packed this house in case he needs to live here for years. Pretty clever, but not helpful for me. I'm no escape artist. It's going to take many attempts to get away from this house. I'm starting to hate him less, but I can't waste my life away in a house on the beach. I can't let him take any sort of advantage of me.

"Make some yourself." I reply.

"You need to stop bullshitting me. Stop the whole act where you pretend like you aren't freaking out on the inside. I know you're trying to get away, Vi."

Really? A nickname?

"What do you expect me to do? Grow old, eating scrambled eggs next to my favorite school shooter? Tate, we could have a goddamn reality show! Of course I'm trying to get away!"

He looks hurt by my words, and sorrow embraces his countenance.

"I don't want to keep you here and you know that. I want you to live a life."

"Then why didn't you just leave me in the library? You'd be safe here and I would be clueless."

"I-I ..don't know." He answers, stuttering a bit.

"It's not rocket science! Just let me leave!"

"I can't do that!" He screams, suddenly knocking over a kitchen chair. I jump back just a bit but he continues to speak. "I've never met anybody like you. Don't you get that? I've always, always been alone, and then I saw you at the library, and I couldn't bring myself to kill you. Those kids I shot are going somewhere better. But I couldn't kill you, because the world would be so much worse without you in it. I looked at you and all I could see was beauty. I can't let you leave because I'm _selfish_. I don't want you to go."

What?

Since when do I stand for beauty? I'm a wreck. A useless, emotional wreck, who has considered suicide and glares at my own reflection. I'm not this thing he is beginning to admire. I'm not meant to be admired.

"I don't want to be here, Tate!"

Another chair tips over, and then his hands curl into fists, and he begins to beat his own head- screaming violent, hateful comments to himself that I can hardly understand.

And then his breathing gets strange.

I've seen this before because I've gone through it. He's having a panic attack.

It's my first instinct, and I follow it. I practically jump out of the chair and race towards him. I know what to do when this happens. I've been taught it many, many times.

"Tate, listen to me, okay? Breathe when I do. Look." His eyes dart towards me and I exaggerate a slow breathing pattern. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale, but he struggles to do as I ask. His breathing matches mine but he can't talk, and I know my plan hasn't worked. Swiftly, I snatch his hand and squeeze it as tightly as I can. Tate stands still- too still, but after a few seconds, his body seems to relax.

"What just happened?"

"You had a panic attack. I know you just woke up, but you need to sleep. Don't do anything that's going to cause you to be nervous. Okay? Come on," I continue, and lead him back towards the room. He goes to sit down on the floor, but I stop him and allow him the comfort of an actual bed, which he gladly thanks me for.

"You can leave, you know. I won't be able to catch you once I finally wake up," he mumbles, half asleep and exhausted.

"I'm not leaving you."


End file.
